Chapter Six

I throw the T-shirt back into the closet and pull out a tank top instead. My shoulders are bare, and the skirt I’ve picked feels a little too revealing. Maybe I should just wear jeans and a shirt. That sounds safer—

No. That’s too serious.

“Stop, Catherine. It’s just Dominic. Why are you making a big fuss about it?” I mutter, staring at my reflection. Why am I beating myself up over Alice’s brother of all people?

I finally settle on a turtleneck and a knee-length skirt, fix my hair, and add a little mascara.

The doorbell rings. He’s here already.

I drop the brush and hurry downstairs. When I open the door, Dominic’s standing there with that same goofy grin. His curly hair falls over his eyes like always, and he’s wearing his usual pants and shirt with a cardigan layered on top.

“Hi…” he says, smiling.

“Hi. Come in.” I widen the door, stepping aside. “I was expecting you a bit later but—”

“Are you working on something? I can wait till you’re done,” he says quickly.

I shake my head. “No. I’ll grab my books from my room. Please, sit down.” I point to the couch before dashing upstairs.

I grab my backpack and rush back down. Dominic already has his things spread out—books, pens, even a laptop. Wow.

I drop beside him. “What are we working on?”

He pulls out a pair of reading glasses and slides them onto the bridge of his nose, biting his bottom lip in concentration. Cute. Too cute. He suddenly turns, and I cough, jumping to my feet.

“I’ll grab us some water,” I mutter, rushing off to the kitchen.

I open the fridge, grab a bottle, and take a quick drink. Do not stare at Dominic again, I warn myself. One more look and I’ll end up choking on my own spit. But seriously—how does he make glasses look that good? Stop it, Catherine. Stop thinking about your best friend’s brother.

I return to the living room. He glances up, adjusting his glasses.

I smile awkwardly. “Do you need water?”

He takes the bottle and passes me a sheet. “I’ve made a personalized timetable for you, but today we’ll just handle Algebra and Economics.”

“Really? You’re a science student. How can you possibly teach Economics?”

He smiles faintly. “I haven’t decided if I’ll stick strictly to science, so I still take most of the classes online.”

My jaw almost drops. “Wow. Doesn’t your brain ever fry from all that reading?”

He laughs quietly. “I’ve got nothing else. If you subtract being intelligent, what else am I even good at?”

That hits harder than I expect.

“Why would you say that?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

He shrugs. “It’s true. It’s not like I’m good-looking or the kind of guy people notice when he walks into a room.” He turns to his laptop, acting like it’s nothing—but that hint of insecurity tugs at something in my chest.

Without thinking, I reach out and grab his face, forcing him to look at me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, startled.

I take off his glasses and gently push his hair away from his face.

“You have gray eyes,” I murmur. “They’re bright—and beautiful.”

He blinks. “I have a big forehead.”

“Who said that?” I snap automatically.

“Enough about me.” He quickly slips his glasses back on and ruffles his hair back into place. “Let’s get back to studying.”

He pulls out his math textbook and I pull out mine.

“We should start from the basics first, then build up,” he says.

“Okay…” I open my notebook as he begins explaining, pulling up exercises to work on. It seems easy to grasp at first, but it gets harder as he moves forward.

“Did you understand the last exercise?” he asks.

I shake my head honestly. It’s harder than he made it sound.

“Okay. You got it up till here. Always remember to cross-multiply after this point.”

“Ohh.” I keep working through the problem, but it’s still confusing. I drop my pen with a sigh. “I just don’t get it—cross multiply—whatever. I need a drink.” I shut my notebook.

“Catherine. No drink, okay?” he says firmly. “I’m your tutor, don’t push me around. Ask questions where you don’t get it, and stop taking this as a joke.”

So strict. “Ooh, really?” I mutter.

“Maybe you want me to be crashing here every day. If you don’t, you better get it right.” He pokes my forehead, then spreads the notes open again.

I pick up the pen. “I don’t mind having you here every day…”

His eyes meet mine, and I instantly realize what I just said.

“I don’t mean it like that,” I rush to explain. “I just mean—you’re not bad company.”

He nods and looks away, lips twitching slightly. I return to the equation, cross-multiplying like he taught me, then moving on to the next one. This one’s easier.

Dominic shifts beside me, fanning himself with one hand.

“It’s hot. You’re packed with clothes—take off something,” I say without thinking. He’s wearing at least three layers under that cardigan. The air conditioner hums, but I doubt he feels it.

He just shakes his head. “I’m good. Do you get the equation?” He leans forward.

I snatch the notes from him as an idea hits.

“What?” he asks suspiciously.

“If I get it right, you’ll take off your cardigan.”

He rolls his eyes. “No way."

“Come on. I need a little motivation here—something to keep me going when the equations get frustratingly hard.” I grin.

He looks hesitant, then sighs. “Alright. Get it right and I’ll take it off.”

I beam. “Pinky swear.”

“Catherine…”

“Come on…”

“Fine. Pinky swear.”

We hook fingers, and he gives me that adorable smile.

I return to the equation, biting my lip and tapping my pen as I work through the steps. When I finish, I pass him the sheet. He scans it, then looks at me.

“It’s correct.”

My face lights up. “Really?”

He nods.

My gaze drops to his cardigan. “Take it off.”

He hesitates, then pulls it over his head.

But even then, he’s still layered up.

“If I get another question right,” I tease, “you take off another piece of clothing.”

“No.”

He’s quick to disagree, but I keep pushing. “Don’t tell me you have so much faith in my math skills,” I tease.

He glances at me, then back at the book. “I’ll make it harder,” he says, flipping a page and starting to explain again.

I jot down every key point, focusing hard, noting each step the way he shows me. When he finally passes me the next equation, I work through it carefully. My chest feels tight and my palms are damp with sweat.

“Correct,” he says.

A broad smile spreads across my lips. I wink. “Take off the shirt.”

“Catherine…”

“You made a promise.”

He sighs, but starts unbuttoning. When he finally pulls it off, I swallow hard. He isn’t skinny—just the perfect, lean amount of muscle under that tanned skin. There’s still a white polo underneath. It’s summer, and he’s dressed like it’s winter.

“Another question,” I say quickly.

He chuckles. “Okay…”

“You take off the polo.”

“No way.” He shakes his head.

“Come on, Dominic…”

“Maybe you’re pretending,” he says with a small smirk. “You already know this topic. Let’s move ahead, then I’ll consider it.”

I hesitate. This new equation looks tougher, but maybe if he explains again and I follow the same steps, I can get it.

“If I get it right,” I say slowly, “you take off both clothes.”